Hit me with your best shot
by StrawberryFields4ever
Summary: AU Three-Shot. Emma is a tough, sarcastic bartender who replaces love with hard work and is perfectly fine with that lifestyle. Until she meets the cocky singer hired to play in the pub she works in.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** September is CS AU Month in Tumblr, and I came up with this idea that honestly wouldn't leave me alone! This is totally different from the other story I'm working on in terms of atmosphere, style and everything, but I'm really proud of how the first chapter turned out, so I hope you like it too! Also, many thanks to my soulmatey Carmina (gaviotica31) for providing me the cap I used as the Story Avatar :)  
**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing.

* * *

Her hand reached out from the warmth and comfort of her covers to strike the snooze button of her obnoxiously loud alarm clock. She missed it.

"Fuck," she groaned, trying again, and throwing the contraption to the floor in the process. It kept ringing. In her still sleepy dazed state, she recalled an episode of her favorite sitcom where a fire alarm kept beeping incessantly even after the protagonist had completely dismantled it. She was sure her alarm clock was from the same company as that fire alarm.

Not being able to take the violence-inducing sound any longer, she hastily got up and turned off the alarm button. She gave a glance at the green numbers. 2:05 PM.

Damn, she hated getting up early.

She shuffled to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and the bag with her cleansing products – soap, loofa, moisturizer, and such – from her vanity and then spent an awfully long time under the spray of lukewarm water, shaking off the last of her sleepiness. Her stomach rumbled, but she knew that if she ate anything too heavy now, she'd have a hell of a stomachache all day. She actually enjoyed her weekend job, but unfortunately her biological clock hadn't adjusted to her work hours yet.

She had got home from work at about 8:30 in the morning, practically sleepwalking among the dozens and dozens of energetic and alert people on the street, starting with their daily activities. She would have loved to have slept a little longer but today her shift started an hour earlier, so she'd have to be leaving for work in about five hours.

Another disadvantage of her weekend job: it took all of her fucking time.

She worked as a bartender in one of the hip pubs downtown, only a twenty-minute walk away from her small apartment. It was the kind of places that served as a mixture of bar, restaurant and night club: people usually started coming for their after-work drinks, then stayed and had a pizza or a burger or any other junk food in the menu; and around midnight or one in the morning, the tables were cleared out and set aside, leaving a huge dance floor that would soon be full of bouncing guys and girls already tipsy and getting drunker and drunker until the wee hours of the morning. The combination seemed to work; they always had full house since she had started working there seven months ago. Despite how well _Emerald City_ was doing, the manager didn't seem to make enough money to hire more personnel. Thus, she had to work almost 12-hour-long shifts.

Still, she didn't complain that much. The money was good and the tips were very generous – especially when she wore a low-cut shirt, and when she succeeded in keeping her anger management issues under control. The first time a pissed costumer had made a move on her, she ignored him as long as she could, until the guy reached out and actually grabbed one of her breasts, so she slammed his head against the bar. To this day, she didn't know which angel was on call that night because she didn't get fired right there and then, as she had almost expected. Maybe it was because her boss had loved the cocktail she had made for him when she'd applied for the job – her own creation that consisted in vodka, rum, some grape juice and a few leaves of peppermint –, but, anyway, she was glad. There weren't many good jobs you could get when you didn't have a high school diploma.

_That's what you get from living in the streets at sixteen_, she thought as the glanced at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and proceeded to undo the knots in her damp hair.

Emma Swan had not had the easiest or prettiest of lives, but she wasn't one to mourn in the past. She knew it did no good to do such thing, so she moved forward. Forward was all she had.

She had to learn that the hard way, but she also had to admit that that life philosophy took her to where she was now, the most stable and also the safest phase of her life. After an unfortunate encounter with the law caused by another even more unfortunate encounter with the man that healed her broken heart only to shatter it even more, she had decided to start from scratch, to do things the right way, to _earn_ what she had. So she sold her old yellow VW bug – not exclusively for the money; it was part of the starting-over-with-no-looking-back plan – and took whichever job she could. Sooner than she expected, she was able to rent the apartment she was still living in. Nothing too big or fancy, but it was in a relatively nice neighborhood, close enough to downtown Boston, and it was more than enough for her.

Apart from bartending in the _Emerald_, Emma gave classes in a big gym. Her kickboxing and self-defense classes were particularly popular, so the income was really good. One of her students, a short woman in her thirties with a friendly face, told her once that all the women in her office had taken Emma's class and praised her superb low-kick techniques. Well, after being bounced around foster homes like a rubber ball all her childhood, living what she sometimes called the 'selfish Robin Hood' kind of life (robbing from the rich but keeping it to herself) and spending almost a year in juvie, she had learned one or two tricks. And she was more than happy to put a good use to them and share her wisdom with women to help them defend themselves in case they were attacked by low-run creeps on the street or shitty husbands. Plus -she had to face it-, all that workout also gave her a smoking hot body.

Yeah, at twenty-three, life was finally starting not to suck that much.

Putting an end to her deeply philosophical mental ramblings, Emma turned on the coffee machine and went to check her phone. A couple of her students asking if they could go to her 6 PM kickboxing class on Monday instead of the 3.30 PM class, her boss reminding her that she had to be at the club tonight at 7.30 sharp, and an ad text from her phone company offering a discount sale. Yeah, she probably had the worst social life ever. But it was better this way. No need to get burned just because. She was fine just by herself.

Emma poured some coffee in a mug and mentally chastised the tiny voice that scoffed in her head.

* * *

At twenty past seven she was already in the "staff room" of _Emerald,_ safely storing her purse and leather jacket in a locker and doing a last-minute check on her hair and make-up. Nothing too fancy, but appealing enough to grant her some nice tips for the night.

"Looking as stunning as ever, Miss Swan," said Graham's reflection in the mirror which she was using to place a couple of bouncing curls on her shoulder in a strategically careless way. She smirked at his reflection and turned around to face his flesh and bone self.

"I could say the same for you, Mister Humbert," she replied, shaking her head in amusement and leaving for the front of the club, her co-bartender following closely behind.

As its name suggested, the _Emerald City_ decor theme was heavily influenced by the Wizard of Oz. Emerald green panels in the walls, paintings of red poppies hanging here and there, a yellow brick road leading to the ladies and gentlemen's respective rest rooms. Far from tacky and childish, the result was elegant and kind of homey. Thank goodness Emma was allowed to wear her regular clothes and not forced to dress up like the Cowardly Lion.

The bar area was actually formed by two concave counters opposed to each other, forming big oval eye-shaped structure. She and Graham stepped inside it through a small door that joined the two bars together and then he locked it to prevent future drunken costumers from going to their side of the bar. The "Eye", as they called it, was located towards the back of the establishment. Usually, Graham dealt with the 'eyelid' that faced the dancefloor while Emma managed the one in front of the more private section of the place; although at some point of the night they would switch places.

She was crouched, scanning the counters behind her bar and mentally checking that every bottle, glass and drink mixer was in its place when a deeply accented voice called her from above. "Rum, please."

As she conveniently had the bottle of rum right in front of her, she grabbed it before standing up and preparing the drink from the costumer.

"There you go," she said, handing the glass to the man and finally lifting her eyes to take a look at him.

She almost dropped the glass.

_Well, holy fuck._

Working in a fancy club and in a gym, she'd seen plenty of hot guys –hell, she'd been working with Graham for a long time and even though she was never interested in dating him, it was undeniable to the objective eye that the man was quite frankly a hunk – but the only way to effectively describe the man in front of her was _sex on motherfucking legs. _Messy dark hair, striking blue eyes under thick eyebrows, wide lips curved into a tiny smirk and surrounded by a carefully trimmed scruff.

"Thank you, lass," he said, taking his rum from her and still smirking.

Probably at Emma's dumbstruck expression. _Way to go, girl. Come on, think fast!_

"Lass? This is the States, you know," she commented casually.

_Smooth. Four for you, Emma, you go, Emma._

The stranger chuckled before taking a swig of his drink. "Old habits die hard, sweetheart. I may have lived here for years but I'll always be an Irishman at heart."

"Huh." It was all the answer she could come up with. She looked around the club to see if there were any other costumers she could deal with, but it was too early and there wasn't any people on the bar except for the Irishman and a couple of girls Graham was talking to behind her. Normally she'd stay there and make small talk to the guy, serve him more drinks and attempt to get a higher tip, but her natural urge to flee from people who potentially could do her no good kicked in as soon as she saw the guy's face. She had the feeling he'd be trouble.

"You don't have to worry about me, lass, I'll behave," he said with a wink, taking her out of her reverie.

"What?"

"You want to go away; I can read it all over your face. I swear I don't bite..._much_" he added the last word in a husky voice before bringing the glass to his lips once again.

"And what makes you think you know me so well?" she asked, attempting to sound stern but not rude and failing, but he wasn't offended anyway.

"I have an ability to read people. And you, my dear, are quite an open book."

"You don't say." She raised an skeptical eyebrow.

He opened his mouth to reply when a group of four boys and girls in their early twenties occupied the stools next to him and signaled for Emma. She shot a small smirk to Irishdude and went to get them their orders. After they left the bar for one of the mahogany tables by the wall, Emma turned around and saw that the man was still sitting in his spot, looking at her intently.

"What? Something on my face?" she asked, approaching him and refilling his glass.

"No, I was just admiring the way the green neon light reflects on your face," he said, cheekily.

"Yeah, right," she muttered, concentrating on placing the glasses under the counter in a perfectly straight line even though they were okay before. Anything not to look at his amazing eyes.

"Really," he insisted, "you looked lovely."

"If you say so," she conceded, shaking her head. It was a habit she had grown accustomed to when someone complimented her in any way. She always felt she didn't deserve it.

"May I ask you your name, lass?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"You may, but that doesn't mean I'll give it to you," she smirked at him. He looked surprised for a few seconds before grinning at her.

"Tough lass," he praised. His eyes found hers and she found herself unable to look away. There was something in his blue irises that called her in, made her want to lean in...

"Need a hand, Emma?" Graham's voice came from beside her and she felt strangely irritated, as if he had interrupted something extremely important. Then she saw HotGuy direct a wide smirk towards her and she felt even more irritated: Graham had involuntarily divulged her name and she had lost the extremely fleeting upper hand in their silly banter game.

"Fuck you, Graham," she muttered, and the guy on the other side of the counter laughed heartily.

"What did I do?" her coworker asked, extremely confused.

"A favor to me, mate," he answered. "I just asked her her name and she refused to say it."

Graham eyes turned to Emma, who was glaring daggers at him, and sent her an apologetic smile. "Oops."

"Nevermind," she said, dropping the subject. She turned to the other guy. "Another one?"

"Always," he said, pushing his empty glass towards her for yet another refill.

"More people are supposed to arrive soon," Graham said, looking at the door and the clients than every now and then stepped in. It was still a little early. "The new band Mr. James hired is performing tonight. If it goes well, they'll be playing here every two weeks, or once a month."

"That's right, I totally forgot," Emma said. Their boss had, in fact, mentioned that there would be a new musical number every other Saturday in order to attract a wider range of customers. "What was the name of the band again?"

"Actually, I think it's just one guy and his guitar."

Emma scoffed. "Please don't tell me that James hired a Kumbaya-singing hippie."

"What's wrong with Kumbaya?" RumDrinker –she was coming up with quite a repertoire of nicknames for him– asked, amused with their exchange.

"Nothing," Emma said, rolling her eyes at him. "It's just that a guy and his guitar a la _MTV Unplugged_ is more like a coffee house thing, not a dance club on Saturday night."

He shrugged. "Guess we'll have to wait and find out." He put a fifty dollar note on the counter. "Keep the change, love." She could see the white flash of his teeth when he smiled at her before getting up and disappearing among the growing crowd.

The next couple of hours were pretty uneventful. Apparently the word had spread about this singing guy, because soon enough the club was almost full and there were lots of new faces, especially squealing girls who barely looked legal and pretended to be liquor know-it-alls by ordering random drinks without even asking what they had in them. Emma didn't care, though; she prepared the cocktails and tried not to laugh at the girls' cough fits when they took longer swigs than recommended. It looked like it was going to be a good night.

At around ten, she saw a couple of the staff guys dressed in black t-shirts and pants setting up a microphone and speakers on the stage area. The crowd noticed too, as they started moving closer to the stage and shooting glances at the empty space there every now and then. Emma wasn't really paying attention to it, as the bar was now full of people looking forward to starting their journey to Wastedland. She heard the roar of applause that signaled that the singer was on stage, but she didn't look up as she was busy preparing a _piña colada_.

"Thank you!" said the male voice on the microphone, and she almost dropped the bottle of rum she was pouring in the tall glass.

It was _his _voice.

She finished the drink and accepted the money. Once the costumer left the bar, her eyes shot up to the stage.

He was there, red Stratocaster hanging from the black strap wrapped around his shoulder, looking extremely sinful under the spotlights, and sporting a wide, smug, shit-eating grin. Directed specifically at her.

_Son of a bastard._

"My name's Killian Jones," he addressed his audience, and on cue, shrilling girly squeals filled the whole venue. He chuckled lightly. "Thanks for that. Anyway, as I was saying, I'm Killian Jones and I'll be playing for you tonight! I've heard here and there that a guy with a guitar is not fit for this kind of places, what do you say if we prove them wrong?" Another round of applause, and Emma's jaw dropped so violently that if she were a cartoon, she would have smashed it against the ground.

The nerve of him!

"How do you like the Stones?" he asked the audience, and after the agreeing sounds they produced, he nodded, smirked and the first notes of _Start me up_ filled the place.

She didn't actually see him perform, because she was too busy giving Graham a hand in the main bar and serving drinks on her own side of the 'Eye' (and maybe, _maybe_, because she was afraid he'd catch her eyes on him and send him another self-satisfied smirk or even an insinuation). However, she still could hear him.

Emma had to admit, obnoxious and full of himself as he was, he really could pull off the single-guitar gig without any kind of other accompaniment.

And his voice.

_Holy mother of all that is good and pure_, his voice was like velvet, smooth and so fucking sexy. It was really unfair that he had the looks and the voice and the musical talent. Well, at least he was still one of those narcissistic bastards with an oversized ego.

About an hour later, the show was coming to an end and the audience begged for an encore. "Thank you!" Killian said. "Now, to close the show, here's a little improv I want to dedicate to a very feisty, opinionated and beautiful lady. You guys are an amazing audience, thank you all so much and goodnight!"

With that, he started to break into a rock and roll rendition of _Kumbaya_. Emma's anger management problem was on the edge of relapsing. She saw Graham trying to suppress a laugh and sent him a killing glare that got him sobered up instantly. Good boy. He knew what was best for him.

This Killian guy, however... He had called her beautiful on stage (because it was beyond obvious that the encore was exclusively for her, which also caused her heart to do an unfamiliar flip in her chest that she refused to acknowledge), but if he was attempting to win her over, song-mocking her was definitely not the way to go.

The song ended and he left the stage, but the screams and all the applause lasted quite a bit longer. He had charmed the place alright. Which meant her boss was probably going to hire him permanently.

_Fuck me sideways._

The stage got cleared out and soon after the electronic music became louder and the lights dimmer, and little by little groups of people started moving to the tunes in the middle of the dancefloor.

"So what do you say, love? Too coffee-house-like or do I fit in?"

How did he even manage to sneak right in front of her among all people crowding the bar?

She shrugged, indifferent. He only chuckled. "Are you ordering something or what?" she said finally.

"Do I have to order to occupy a spot on the bar?" He smirked at her raised eyebrow. "A Cuba Libre, please."

She set to prepare the drink, shaking her head in tune with the song playing in the background and purposefully ignoring him. "Here."

"So, did you like the show?" he asked, locking eyes with her. She was surprised to see that, for a moment, she spotted genuine curiosity and maybe a hint of anxiousness in his too-blue eyes before it was gone.

"Sure, it was awesome. I especially enjoyed how you called me out in front of the whole place –and not only once– and practically made fun of me."

His carefree, conceited face fell. "Come on, love, you know I was joking, I didn't mean to offend you," he said, eyes wide with concern. But then again, he seemed to wake up from whatever trance he was under and the ever-present smirk was back in place. "Besides, it's not that anyone would understand those references besides you and me."

"Not true. Graham could," she stated, pointing at her coworker with her head.

"And just how much does his opinion matter to you?" Her eyebrows rose again, shocked as she was with his sudden mood swings. Was he...jealous now?

"It doesn't, I was just pointing out that other people caught that reference, too."

He didn't answer; instead, he finished his Cuba Libre and paid her for the drink. He got up to leave, but suddenly he turned to her and stared at her with the most honest expression she'd seen of him during the whole evening and smiled softly at her.

"Listen, I know this is a bit of a long shot, but...would you like to go out, some time?"

There were literally dozens of excuses Emma could use right now.

_Thanks, but I have a boyfriend._

_That's really sweet, but I play for the other team, if you know what I mean._

_Look, that's really nice but you're probably going to play here often and I don't want to mix work with my romantic life._

_I'm just saving the unavoidable hurt and bitter aftertaste after the whole thing imminently goes to waste._

Instead, what came out of her involuntarily-curved-upwards lips was a whispered "Yes".


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Whoa. Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews, favorites and follows! I'm so happy that so many people liked the first chapter! I hope I won't disappoint with this one... Also, I forgot to write that the fire alarm episode from a sitcom that I mentioned in the beginning of last chapter was from Friends! If you haven't seen it, search "Phoebe and the fire alarm" on Youtube and prepare to laugh your ass off :) Again, thanks so much and I hope you like part 2!  
**Disclaimer:** If only, man, if only.

* * *

"Alright, girls! That was awesome, see you on Thursday!" she called, addressing the fifteen women in front of her who displayed a wide range of age, physique and backgrounds, but all of them were unanimously sweating and breathing heavily, clapping at their instructor. It always made Emma feel very grateful and a tad uncomfortable that all her students had taken the little tradition of clapping after the class was over. She waited until the last of them passed by and left the room before moving to pick her gym bag and heading for the showers. Her body felt toned and tense and strong, as it usually happened after a particularly intense class. She allowed herself to relax under the spray of hot water and tried to keep her mind from wandering about a particular phone number that was stored in her cellphone and that practically _begged_ her to be dialed, and about the sexy blue-eyed owner of said number.

She failed miserably, of course.

_Stupid, stupid, STUPID Emma! What the hell have you done?_, her inner Jiminy Cricket had scolded her as soon as she accepted Killian's invitation to go out. Because, really, she could smell trouble in that guy from about a mile away, everything in her nature told her to stay as far away as possible, but apparently her stupid mouth had other plans and she blurted out the "Yes" before her brain was fully able to process what had happened. Now there was no way out.

Because, quite frankly, how could she have said no after that? And especially, how could she have said no after watching how the guy's eyes shone with excitement even under the ever-changing lights of the dancefloor and how his face broke into a smile so wide and beautiful that she could practically feel her feet starting to melt into a puddle at the sight of it?

As soon as she said yes, he produced a small business card from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to her. It only read 'Killian Jones. Musician. Lessons and performances' and a cellphone number. "I'll wait for your call," he had said, winking at her and disappearing from sight.

That had happened on Saturday night; now it was Tuesday afternoon and she would be lying if she said that she hadn't spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at the numbers on the card until she could practically recite them by heart, or that she hadn't felt the need to send him at least a short text saying 'Hi. It's Emma from the pub' to see if he actually remembered her and wanted to talk to her. He had actually never asked her for her surname or her phone or e-mail address; he'd left the decision to reach out entirely to her. And she was simultaneously itching to talk to him and dreading it.

She was used to being alone, voluntarily rejecting any opportunity to become too emotionally involved with someone because she wouldn't be able to handle the subsequent hurt, and now here she was, thinking about a guy she'd met for only a couple of hours a few days ago and actually considering seeing him again. Flashes of a handsome face, brown eyes and shabby brown hair danced in front of her closed eyelids, and she felt like she was reverting to her seventeen-year-old self. And it scared the shit out of her.

_Too much mental rambling in the shower lately_, she thought, turning off the knob and grabbing a towel.

She had just finished putting on a black singlet and a fresh pair of black leggings when Mary Margaret, the yoga instructor, entered the shower room and sent her a radiant smile. "Hey, Emma! Ruby and I are grabbing a bite in ten, want to join us?"

Emma smiled. "Sure. See you at the snack bar."

Mary Margaret and Ruby, the loud and cheery girl who was in charge of salsa lessons were the closest thing she had to a friend. They were co-owners of the gym and they had both welcomed her with open arms when she started working there; and they'd invited her to their 'girls night out' several times, but she always refused due to the unsocial hours of her job at the pub. Still, the three of them often got together during the breaks between their classes to chat about random gossip and their boyfriends (Emma remained silent and nodded absentmindedly when the conversations steered towards the latter topic).

Emma combed her damp hair and fashioned it into a messy bun before heading downstairs to the gym's bar, which, of course, consisted only of energy drinks, natural fruit shakes and protein shakes and healthy snacks. She saw Ruby's unmistakable black and red hair in one of the tables at the corner and headed towards her.

"Hi, Ruby! Mary Margaret told me to come here with you guys."

"Emma, hi!" the other woman got up and hugged her briefly. She always did so, regardless Emma's constant reminders that she was not a huggy person. "Come, sit! How was the class?"

"Well, you know, it was fine, I guess. One of the girls somehow missed punching bag, though, and almost breaks my jaw, but I managed to duck in time," Emma said, earning an amused laugh from the other woman. A couple of minutes later, Mary Margaret appeared. "I'm going to the bar to buy a shake, you guys want anything?" she asked when she arrived at their table.

"Uhm, yeah, a banana and orange shake would be awesome," Emma said, looking inside the mess that was her gym bag until she found her wallet and opened it to hand the woman some money.

"What's this?" Ruby asked curiously, picking up a small piece of paper that fell from her open wallet. Her eyebrows shot up and she produced an overdramatic gasp. "Emma! Who is this Killian Jones?"

_Oh, shit._

She had kept his business card.

"No one. It's..."

"Don't!" Mary Margaret nearly screamed, effectively shutting her up. "You're not saying _anything_ until I come back with the drinks and some snacks." Whereupon she actually _ran_ to the cash register.

Emma was shocked. "What? It's not..."

"SHH!" she saw Mary Margaret lifting her index finger to her lips, indicating her with a very strict look to shut the hell up. Emma was getting scared. She'd never seen the usually gentle and calm woman act like this.

Was it really so weird that she had a card with a guy's name and cell phone?

Yeah, it was, actually.

Less than three minutes later the short woman was rushing back to the table, precariously balancing two shakes and a bowl of fruit salad. It was a miracle that everything made it to the table intact.

"Here! Now, spill!"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Not much to say, really. He played at the _Emerald_ last Saturday."

"Is he hot?" Ruby asked impishly.

The blonde recalled the sapphire blue eyes and the messy black hair. "Smoking."

The two brunettes across her actually squealed. Well, at least apparently she wasn't the only grown-up teenager around.

"How'd you end up with his card?" Ruby winked, cheekily.

"He gave it to me," Emma said, playing dumb and trying to get off the hook. No such luck.

"And he just gave you his card just for the sake of it?" Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow.

Toying with the straw of her shake, Emma sighed and mentally prepared herself for what was to come next.

"He gave it to me when he asked me out."

The other people on the bar actually stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the trio with shocked at annoyed expressions at their screams. Emma hid her face behind his forearms, as red as a beetroot, as she waited for their overreaction to die down.

"So when are you seeing him?" Ruby asked after they sobered up.

Emma shrugged. "Probably in a couple of Saturdays, when he plays in the _Emerald _again. My boss hired him to play regularly."

"I meant in strictly non-work situations and you know it," Ruby countered, not amused.

Emma sighed loudly. "I don't think it's such a good idea," she muttered lamely.

Ruby's and Mary Margaret's expressions softened as they looked at her with a hint of sadness. "Emma," the latter said, softly, "I know that you have walls to protect yourself from being hurt, but in the process, you're denying yourself the possibility of finding your happiness..."

"And do you think I'll find it with this guy?" she countered back, knowing that she was being incredibly rude to this woman who didn't deserve it, but she couldn't help it. Talking about that made her feel so defenseless...

"Possibly not, who knows," the short-haired woman answered patiently. "But still, you've seen other men before. And you've been lonely for a long time; I think you should give this guy a chance. And if it doesn't work, well, at least you've tried."

"Trying and getting hurt isn't worth it," Emma said, looking down and taking a gulp of her fruit drink.

"It is, if eventually you find the one person who makes you truly happy," Ruby intervened. "Mary Margaret said it before, you've seen a few guys in the time we've known each other. Why so doubtful about this one?"

"The others were one-night stands. Scratch the itch and never see your face again. That kind of thing. I know I sound like a five-star slut but I've been hurt so badly that I don't think I'll make it through another heartbreak. And this Killian reminds me too much of the guy that made me this way in the first place."

She finally looked up and a lump formed in her throat at the women's gazes. They held no judgment or discrimination; on the contrary, there was nothing but sympathy and understanding in their eyes and soft smiles.

"Emma," Mary Margaret said after a few seconds of heavy silence, "I know we haven't known each other for that long and we don't know each other so well, but, you know, I think you owe it to yourself to get loose a little and have fun. This musician, yeah, you're going to see him often at the pub, but going out just once to see how it goes can't hurt. If it doesn't work, it doesn't. It doesn't mean that you have to quit your job and move to the other side of town to avoid him."

"He's probably a cocky asshole who knows that he is hot and uses that in his favor to have an army of swooning girls at his feet." _Are you trying to convince them or yourself, Swan?_

"I think he would have acted differently. I mean, he wants to go out with you but instead of asking you for your number, he gave you his, giving you carte blanche to call him or call it quits before it even starts..."

"That's not what most guys do, believe me," Ruby butted in.

"Look," the other girl continued, "I'm not saying you have to go out with him. Not if you don't want to. But I think you _do _want to but you are afraid it would hurt you. My advice is it can't hurt to try. And if it does hurt, I give you permission to kick my butt and I promise I won't fire you for it," she winked and officially dropped the conversation with a comment about the funny taste of the apples in her fruit salad.

* * *

Emma plopped down on her big and comfy mattress; feeling incredibly tired all of the sudden. Mary Margaret's words still rang in her head like one of those tacky songs that you hate passionately but are so damn catchy that you suddenly find yourself singing the lyrics along and you hate yourself for that.

She was right, though. Emma was afraid.

She'd gone out and shared a bed with her share of men since Neal, but it was just a way to sate a physical need; there were never feelings involved. She had never let herself feel since she ended up behind bars because the man she oh so naïvely thought was the love of her life screwed her over big time and disappeared from the face of the earth.

She had closed herself off and hardened her heart. And this Killian, in the few moments she had interacted with him, had made her feel angry, annoyed, offended, amused, flattered, _intrigued._ She wasn't used to feeling so much and so fast for someone she had barely met. So yes, she was scared shitless.

Was she really to blame for that? After all, she'd lived just fine, with nothing but her work, for more than six years.

Then it dawned on her.

A heavy pang made her heart drop to her stomach at the realization. She was seventeen when she met Neal, a few months later she was admitted into juvie because of him. Now she was almost twenty-four.

Six fucking years of her life.

Not for the first time, she cursed Neal's excuse of a person; but for the first time, she did it because she felt she had wasted so much precious time.

_I think you owe it to yourself to get loose a little and have fun._

"Oh, fuck it!" She said, grabbing her cell phone from her purse and typing Killian's number.

_Hi. It's Emma. From Emerald._

She instantly put the cellphone in vibrate mode, face down on her pillow so she wouldn't see the screen light up with incoming messages, got up and walked to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it all in two gulps. Mentally scolding herself for acting like an idiot, she went back to her room and picked up the phone.

There was a new message.

_And here I thought you'd forgotten about me. How are you, lass?_

_Fine, just came home from work. You?_

_Same. I didn't know you had another job. What do you do?_

She was about to type a reply when the device vibrated with another incoming text.

_You know what? Don't answer that now, tell me about it in our date._

Of course the conceited bastard knew the reason she was texting him and didn't hesitate to throw it to her face at the first chance.

_What makes you think I'm texting because I want to go out with you?_

_Open book__._

_...You can't see my face right now._

_Open e-book__._

She didn't reply right away because she was too busy choking with laughter. What was up with Irishdude?! Her hysterical attack died, though, when another text arrived.

_Do you work on Friday nights?_

_Yeah._

_How about Thursday nights?_

Now or never, Emma.

_...I'm free._

_Do you want to hang out on Thursday night, then?_

Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. A whole minute. Three minutes. Then her fingers started moving on the keypad even before she had made up her mind.

_Yeah._

_7:30 okay? I don't even have to pick you up at your place if you don't want to, we'll meet there._

_No, it's alright. 47, Bean Street, apartment 206._

_Great. See you then, Emma._

_Killian?_

_Yeah?_

_Just...don't read too much into this. I'm really not the dating type._

_Don't worry, sweetheart. I had figured as much._

* * *

"This is a terrible idea," Emma said to her mirror reflection as she curled her recently washed and blow-dried hair. It was seven o'clock and a small (or well, maybe not so small) part of her brain was screaming at her to grab her cellphone and cancel the date, alleging migraine, stomachache, severed left hand or any other excuse. But the guy had probably already left to pick her up and she felt bad because doing that would cause too much trouble. Besides, it would have been the cowardly thing to do, and Emma Swan was no coward. Nobody with even a pinch of cowardice could have rebuilt their life in the way she did with hers.

After everything she'd been through, a date with a guy wouldn't be so much of a deal.

Right?

She hadn't talked to Irishdude after they had settled the time and place of their date, so she didn't know what he had planned, hence, what she should wear. Something kept telling her that they wouldn't be going to a big, fancy restaurant, so she opted for a casual but nice outfit: leather boots, black skinny jeans, white blouse and her favorite red leather jacket.

Simple, totally her style, but she did look good; she had to admit that to herself. Eyeliner, mascara, a discrete lip-gloss, and she was ready to go.

At 7:28 she was in the middle of triple-checking she had everything necessary in her bag (wallet, keys, ID, phone, pepper spray –because you never know when it may come in handy) when a loud buzz indicated that he had arrived. Her palms started to sweat.

"Yeah?" She said to the intercom's speaker next to her front door.

"Emma? It's Killian," his voice came a little crackled through the device, and Emma bit her lip because it was not okay that her heart rate had picked up so high at the sound of his voice.

"Wait a sec, I'll come down now." She locked her place, took a deep, calming breath and climbed down the two flights of stairs to the entrance of the building as slowly and naturally as possible.

When she landed on the hall, she saw him through the glass doors, leaning casually against the wall and looking with a small smile at her approaching form. She couldn't believe she had actually forgotten how insanely good-looking he was. Or maybe she hadn't had a proper look at him in the darkness of the club. Now, however, she found details of him that she hadn't seen before –and only contributing in making him more appealing, unfortunately for her. For example, a scar on his right cheek, the little wrinkles at the side of his eyes when he smiled, the golden earring he sported in his ear.

"Hi," she said, managing a small smile and feeling extremely proud of the fact that her voice hadn't come out breathless or raspy. _Damn this guy._

"Evening, lass. You're looking gorgeous, let me say," he stated, looking at her up and down and grinning like the Cheshire cat.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Thanks, I guess," she said, biting her tongue before letting out a "You too". Because with his tight dark jeans and blue plaid shirt under a black leather jacket, and with his still messy hair as if he hadn't bothered to comb it since she last saw him, he was looking pretty damn good. _Emma, stop! Change the conversation now! _"So what are we doing?"

"It's a surprise," he answered, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I hate surprises," she deadpanned, making a face.

He actually _laughed_ at her, completely amused, which made Emma's fists itch with need to connect them with his stupidly attractive jaw. "Alright, tell you what. Pick a hand," he said, looking at her expectantly. It was then when Emma realized that he had both hands hidden behind his back.

"What are you, seven years old?" she countered with a raised eyebrow, but he waited patiently, not uttering another sound, until she gave up. "Fine, that one," she said, pointing at his left one.

"Good choice," he praised, taking his hand towards her and showing her what he was gripping there. It was two small, long pieces of paper...

"Red Soxs tickets?!" she asked, incredulous, her head snapping up to look at him with eyes and mouth open wide in astonishment. He looked quite pleased with her reaction.

"Indeed, lass," he smirked, "and we're going to be late if you keep standing there."

"How did you know I like them?" she asked, still a little shocked.

"I did some inquiries here and there. Your fellow bartender Graham was very helpful."

God, she was going to kill Graham. Or thank him. Depending on how the game went. And the rest of the date, of course. But, in all fairness, this seemed like a promising beginning.

"So what are you hiding in your other hand?" she asked, curiously, motioning with her head at his other arm, which was still behind his back.

"My fingers," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, extending his right hand and wiggling the fingers in front of her. It was really hard for Emma to resist the urge to facepalm. He took his car keys from his pocket and motioned towards a black Volvo parked a few feet away. "Shall we, then?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So...this is the end. I know a lot of people asked me to continue this (and that flatters me to no end) but I decided to finish the story here, just as I had planned. To make up for that, I give you an M rating, so you can't complain :P it's actually the first time I write and post smut so I'm super self-conscious and afraid it turned out all cliche and sappy. Ah, the nerves are killing me! Also, guys, I'm sorry if some of my baseball references are wrong; I come from a country where there are literally three baseball teams and they are of course all amateur :P Thanks to all of you who showed so much love and enthusiasm for this little thingy, I'm so happy that you all liked this story so much! See you next time :)  
**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own a thing.

* * *

The ride to Fenway Park was mostly silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. Killian had tuned in a radio station that broadcasted mostly old rock songs, from the fifties to the early nineties, and which was actually the same radio station that Emma had playing on the background at her home as she did her chores or made sit-ups in the living room floor. A Toto song started and Emma swayed her head to the sides to the music.

_Hold the line, love isn't always on time._

"You've got quite the voice, lass." Killian's comment, along with his chuckle, made her realize that she'd been unconsciously singing along. Her cheeks instantly turned as red as her jacket.

"Watch out, then, I might want to make some extra cash on the pub by singing a song or two and then they'll fire you," she crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking at the road ahead with a defiant expression.

He laughed heartily, again. "You have a nice voice, but, no offense, I think you should stick to the bartending thing for now. After all, you're pretty damn good at it. You made me the best Cuba Libre I'd ever had."

"Damn right I am good," she said with a smirk and a false confidence that was easier to achieve than actually thanking him for his compliment.

"So, what made you start bartending?"

She thought about it for quite a long time, trying to find a coherent yet guarded answer. "I don't know," she said honestly, "I guess that among the limited options I had to make a living out of, it was the most attractive and best paid. But I actually like it a lot."

"It's great to live out of something that you love doing," he agreed, and Emma silently thanked him for not pressing into the matter. "Though you did mention that you had another job..." he probed, casting a sideways glance at her.

"I work at a gym. Self-defense and kickboxing classes," she said, reveling in the way his eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline.

"Something tells me I don't really want you holding a grudge against me," he said, and Emma couldn't help the light laugher that escaped her lips.

"You probably don't." They stayed silent for a few seconds, until Emma decided she wanted to know about _him_ as well. "What about you? Do you live solely on your performances at clubs?"

"No, of course not. I teach music, too."

"Private lessons?"

He bit his lip and shifted a little on the driver's seat. "Yeah...also at a school."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why, you don't picture me playing guitar for a bunch of eight-year-olds?" he turned to her momentarily, giving her a perfectly angelic expression that nearly melted her against her will.

"Honestly? No, not really. Doesn't fit with your rock star image," she said, cocking her eyebrow.

"Well, love, you should know better than to judge a book by its cover. You don't exactly look like a tough, sassy bartender who is more than capable of kicking a man's ass."

"Fair enough," she conceded. She was well aware that her delicate complexion didn't really match up with what she could do to a man's sexual organs if they pissed her off. People usually underestimated her for her appearance, and oh boy, how she loved proving them wrong. "I had no idea you had such a soft side," she baited, smirking at him.

"There's only one way to find out," he countered back, diverting his eyes from the road to wink at her.

"I feel obliged to tell you that I can spot when people are lying to me, so you'd better not do it to try to impress me," she warned.

"Duly noted. It's a good thing then that I haven't lied to you at all. Have I?"

Emma studied his face for a long moment. He wasn't looking directing at her but he wasn't hiding anything either. "No," she sentenced in a whisper.

Huh. So this guy _did_ teach music and played the guitar and sang for little kids.

Interesting.

_No, not interesting! Just a piece of information you've learned about him and that doesn't influence your opinion of him at all._

Yeah, sure.

"Do you play any other instruments?" she asked, partly because she was genuinely curious, but mostly to stop the silly argument that was currently going on inside her head.

"Bass, ukulele, and piano, but only because it was compulsory in the conservatory. It's not really my cup of tea."

"That's awesome. I always wanted to learn how to play the guitar," she admitted, not to him exactly, just rambling out loud.

"Maybe I could teach you," he commented offhandedly, but with a hint of seriousness in his voice.

"Maybe, we'll see," she said, looking out the window. They were not far away from the stadium now. "And do you own more guitars or just the Stratocaster?"

"Someone knows her stuff," he said, impressed. "An acoustic guitar, two ukuleles, and a blue _Les Paul._"

"You have a Gibson _Les Paul_?! I hate you now." She'd always dreamed of playing one of those since she'd learned it was the model that Jimmy Page and George Harrison preferred.

"I'll let you play it if we go out again," he said, pursing his lips as to prevent a smirk from forming.

"Bribing me for a second date? Afraid this one won't work?" she joked.

"Pff, please," he said, adopting a smug expression entering the stadium's parking lot now. But Emma saw the flash of doubt in his eyes before he schooled his expression. And it sent a pang of guilt to her chest.

Was he really afraid she'd kick him to the curb after the night was over? Is that what he thought she'd do?

Well, to his credit, Emma had given him good reason to believe that.

The game was starting in fifteen minutes so the place was almost full when they reached it, but they were able to find their seats with no problem. Emma was a huge Red Sox fan but she'd never had the chance to watch them live, and the seats Killian had got were very good. She declined his offer to buy some snacks, and they stayed in silence until, a couple of minutes later, the whole stadium exploded with applause and cheers when the teams entered the pitch.

Excited, she joined the rest of the spectators, finding that, just like in the club, the music, the noise and the cheery atmosphere were filling her with energy and adrenaline. She was in her element. She felt eyes burning holes in her face and turned around to see Killian looking at her with that awed expression again. It was both unnerving and exhilarating. Emma raised an eyebrow questioningly and he just shrugged and turned his attention to the pitch.

It was a hell of a game. By the fourth inning, the Sox had a wide advantage over the Indians, and at one moment, Emma almost caught the ball that had gone flying in her general direction after a home run, but a guy a couple of seats above her was the lucky one. During a break, the Kiss-camera started focusing on random couples at the stadium, and she scrunched her eyebrows, confused.

"I thought this was something that only happened in cheesy rom-coms?" No sooner had the words left her mouth than she saw her panicked face in the gigantic screens at the corners of the place.

_Shit._

Killian laughed and held her face in place with a firm but gentle grip of his hand on her chin, then proceeded to leave a long, noisy kiss on her cheek.

She could do nothing but stay put and she barely registered the generalized 'Aaaww' from their audience and her face tinting an impossible shade of red before the camera moved to another couple.

"Was that really necessary?" she snapped at his infuriating satisfied smirk, resisting the urge to rub her hand against her cheek, where the ghost of his lips still made her skin tingle.

"Hey, the camera was pointing at us, there was no other choice," he said innocently. "As if you didn't like it," he commented, earning a jab of her finger to his ribs.

"Shut up," she growled.

The game resumed shortly after, and it ended in a fair victory for the Sox, much to Emma's happiness.

"That was a great game," she commented once they were back in the car. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me, lass. I enjoyed the game. But I hope you don't think that because the game is over, our evening also is."

"What else are we doing, then?"

"Ah, ah! Wait and see."

"Do I even want to know, Jones?"

"I think you'll like it," he paused for a second, confused. "Would you care to share your last name with me, lass?"

"Swan."

"I think you'll like it, Swan." He smiled at her. "Emma Swan. It has a nice ring to it."

"Thanks, I guess," she said, shaking her head.

A few minutes later, he pulled up by an empty baseball pitch. He helped her out of the car before opening the trunk and withdrawing a couple of bats and helmets, along with a picnic basket.

"Wanna grab a bite before hitting some balls? And not mine, before you get ideas into your pretty little head."

She could do nothing but laugh her ass off at that. This guy was really not what she thought he'd be.

"Sure."

They sat on the top stand at the side of the pitch. Killian handed her a sandwich and a small bottle of beer from a cooler. She took a tentative bite. It was delicious.

"Pastrami?" She raised an eyebrow. "Graham again?"

He just shrugged. "I had to be sure I wasn't making any mistakes."

"Why putting so much effort, even when I told you I'm not the date type?" She really couldn't get her head around that.

All playfulness left his face. "I wanted you to have a good time, date or not. I like you." Her eyes scanned his.

Lie scan came clear.

"Why would you like me so much after I've been so rude to you?"

"Why wouldn't I? You are breathtakingly beautiful, of course, but apart from that... There is something about you that calls me in, that makes me want to know things about you. It's weird, I know, but it's almost like...almost like I feel you and I are kindred spirits."

"Kindred spirits? Where did you take that line from?" she joked lightly, slightly uncomfortable by the sudden seriousness of the conversation.

"I mean it. You're guarded, you're afraid to reveal yourself and trust because you've been hurt deeply before. And that's something I can identify myself with."

None of the spoke while they finished their food. Emma was thinking about what he'd said. He had been hurt, just like her. Or maybe not _exactly_ like her, but somehow he seemed to believe that their stories were similar.

After they cleared out their stuff, he put the baseball helmet on her head before wearing his own.

_Nobody should look so sexy wearing a fucking helmet._

"Wanna bat some balls before I take you home?" he asked, motioning towards the pitching machine.

"Hell, yeah," she said enthusiastically, grabbing a bat and earning a laugh from him. "Why did you leave Ireland?" she asked suddenly.

His laughter died down immediately. "I had no one else to stay for, so I decided to try something new."

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about that," she commented.

"Told you, kindred spirits," he said with an award-winning grin, at which she shook her head and rolled her eyes, but couldn't help her own smile curling her lips upwards.

He turned on the machine and Emma went inside the batting cage. She missed a few, but was able to send a lot of balls beyond the edge of the pitch. Killian, on the other hand...

"Oh my God, you suck!" Emma screamed at him between fits of laughter, almost doubling over. He looked like a model fresh out of a photoshoot for a baseball equipment ad alright, but his actual skills at baseball were not the best.

"I told you, Swan, my sport is football! Or what you Americans call soccer," he pursed his lips, annoyed, which made Emma laugh harder.

"No excuses, you suck big time!"

"Ok, payback time," he stated, throwing his bat on the ground and charging towards her.

"What are you DOING?" she squealed at the last word because his hands found the way to her ribs and he was tickling her mercilessly. "Stop! Killian, stop!"

He did stop, staring at her dumbfounded, probably because she called him by his name for the first time. Emma read the resolve in his eyes and knew what he was about to do, but she didn't stop him. She didn't want to.

Killian moved his hands from her ribs to her hips and bent down until his lips touched hers. His scuff was scratching her face in an amazing way, and she found herself opening up for him and deepening the kiss. It sent a rush of adrenaline much different than the one from the game through her body. When the need for air became urgent, they pulled apart, but he leaned his forehead against hers, hands caressing her sides.

They stayed like that for seconds, hours, eons, until he whispered softly "It's getting late, come on, I'll take you home."

* * *

Standing in front of her apartment building, her hand still encased in his bigger one that he hadn't let go after he'd helped her out of the car and drowning in the blue depths of his eyes, she was experiencing something similar to the feeling you get after watching the very last episode of your favorite TV show. Just the thought of saying goodnight to him now, even though she'd surely see him again –at work and outside work, as well– was making her heart ache. Which was not good, not good at all.

_Remember Neal,_ a part of her brain warned.

_He is not Neal,_ a small voice in her mind countered back, its statement growing louder and louder until it was practically screaming inside her.

He dipped his head and his lips were on hers again, gently trying to pry her lips apart to seek entrance. As she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders just as she felt his own arms around her waist, she realized that she didn't want to say goodbye.

It felt just right. She didn't want it to end.

Not tonight.

She pulled back just a couple inches and locked her eyes with his. "Do you want to come in?" she whispered.

He opened his eyes wide in surprise for a second before recovering his composure and offering her a hopeful smile. "Are you sure, Emma?" he asked, and the fact that he really wanted to make sure that she didn't feel forced to do anything she might feel insecure with was enough to seal her fate.

At least for the rest of the evening.

She nodded, a smile of her own working its way on her lips, which made Killian grin even wider, white teeth shining under the dim streetlamp. She gently disentangled from him and grabbed his hand, guiding him through the front door, up the two flights of stairs, through her apartment door, across the living room to her bedroom, right to the edge of the bed.

Only then did she turn around to see him, and as soon as she did, he was grabbing her face with both hands and kissing her intensely. Her own hands travelled slowly up his back until they tangled with the soft hair at the back of his neck. His tongue seemed insisting on not leaving any part of her mouth unexplored, and Emma was beginning to lose patience.

She had never felt such need for anyone before, and normally it would have paralyzed her and made her kick Killian out of her place instantly, but now, as her back hit the comfortable mattress, she couldn't think about anything else but how _good_ it felt to have Killian's weight on her body. With a hand on her back, he moved her forward so her head was resting on the pillow. His fingertips starting scanning her body, her arms, her stomach, the valley of her breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She shivered and let out a low moan when his tongue dipped in the hollow at the base of her neck.

_Damn this bastard._

She pushed him up hard, making him pause and look at her in confusion, until she sat up and started unbuttoning his shirt while licking random paths up and down his throat. He shrugged off the fabric and she dragged her nails across his muscled chest, around his hips and up his back. She smirked against his neck when she felt him shudder.

Killian promptly took off her blouse and bra, staring at her topless form and licking his lips, which made Emma blush with embarrassment and anticipation.

"You're so beautiful, Emma," he rasped, lying her down gently and attacking her breasts with his hand, mouth and tongue, sending electric shocks of pleasure through her entire being and pooling them in her lower belly. She barely registered one of his hands travelling down but suddenly there it was, unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down. Emma kicked them off, and once she was only in her panties, Killian's hand sneaked underneath the fabric to stroke her, his fingers opening her and going in deep.

She felt him smirk against the skin of her ribs at her loud, surprised moan.

_Two can play this game._

Panting and biting her lip as her body hummed with the building tension that the motion of his fingers was creating, Emma reached for the button of his jeans, undid it so violently that she almost rip it off, and hastily lowered his trousers and boxers just enough to take him out of his confines and wrap her hand around him, reveling in his sharp intake of breath and his guttural growl. Her hand moved up and down his length, fast then slow, occasionally circling her thumb against the head.

Well, let's say he actually had a good reason to be so _cocky._

Sooner than she would have thought, she felt her release approaching. Bucking her hips upwards, her inner muscles clenched around his fingers and suddenly she was crying out his name, bright spots dancing dizzily behind her closed eyelids, her grip on him involuntarily tightening, earning a throaty moan from him. She hadn't completely come down from her high when she felt the mattress dipping with his moves, and then he was there, between her spread legs, tip brushing over her oversensitive center.

"Look at me, Emma," Killian breathed, commanding but gentle, his hands massaging her hips. She complied, locking eyes with him just as he pushed forward and sank in her. His lips parted in a silent cry, just as hers, and the sight of his face full of pleasure as he started to move inside her was one of the most arousing things she had ever seen. Reaching up, she grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him to her, kissing him with all her might, her tongue mimicking the upward thrusts of her hips that were rising to meet his.

It was hot, it was rough, it was passionate. It was _right._

The feeling of him filling her completely and hitting that sweet spot deep inside her had her spiraling down the maelstrom again, biting his shoulder to muffle the scream that wanted to escape her. Stilling and pulsing inside her, he followed shortly after, panting her name over and over again and collapsing on top of her.

Trying to turn the muddle that was her brain into a coherent, functioning organ again, Emma starting to run a hand up and down Killian's back (there was just _something_ about his back that was irresistible) while the other massaged his scalp. He let out a content sigh against her neck, his body still crushing hers in the most non-uncomfortable and delicious way. As she was gradually coming back to her senses, there was only one thought in her mind.

It was never like this.

Not with any of her one-nighters, nor with Neal._ It was never like this._

Before she knew it, she was grinning like an idiot. Killian shifted and finally rolled off her and to the side, looking at her with the sweetest expression and kissing her bare shoulder.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, concealed but not unnoticeable sadness and fear in his voice, after what felt like an eternity and only mere seconds at the same time.

Emma stared at him, at this man who got on her nerves with even the smallest remark or insinuation, who was so beautiful inside and out, who had been broken and wore a protective shell around himself, just like her.

_God, one amazing lay and you're turning into a sappy moron._

She really didn't care much about that.

She could freak out in the morning, figure out where they stood later. But not tonight.

Sitting up, she reached for the covers and threw them over their bodies before snuggling closer to him. She felt his body relax and his arm wrapped around her waist. She placed her head on his shoulder and felt his lips on her hair. Emma smiled and uttered just one word before drifting off to sleep.

"Stay."


	4. Chapter 4: Extra chapter

**A/N:** I wasn't going to do this, but a lot of people asked me to. Plus, I was missing these bastards and I felt I had to make up for all the sappiness of the end. So here, have this one. And I'm NOT writing more, no matter how much you beg, you cannot convince me otherwise (yeah, right...). Again, thanks a million for your amazing feedback!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters or anything but the silly plot and wittily lame dialogues.

* * *

Emma woke up with to a foreign but very appealing scent, akin to a musky, spicy perfume. She inhaled deeply, taking in as much of the pleasant male scent as she could. Where had it come from?

Sleepy as she was, it took her several seconds to register the warmth emanating from her side and the calloused but soft fingers brushing against her hair, her forehead, travelling along the bridge of her nose. Reluctantly, she opened an eye and it zeroed in Killian's blue ones.

_Oh right, we fucked like crazy last night._

Right on cue, a dull but not at all uncomfortable ache between her legs to support the hazy memory.

"Morning, love," he said in a low voice thick with sleep, which combined with his accent was starting to make Emma's hormones overwork.

"What time is it?" she asked, rubbing her hand against her eyes in an attempt to fully wake up.

"Very early," he sent her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I have to be at the school at 8:30 and I gotta go to my place first."

Emma turned around to take a glance at her alarm clock. 6:30 in the morning. She suppressed a groan. Oh, the things she did for...guys that she had seen twice in her life but in that short amount of time made her feel like her world was turned upside down.

Yeah, that was pretty much the way to describe this Irish bastard currently leaving a trail of hot kisses on her neck.

"I really am sorry, lass," he murmured before not so gently nipping the skin on her pulse point, making her gasp. "But I'll make it up to you."

"You better," she said though gritted teeth and his laughter made his body vibrate against hers and send shocks of need right to her center. "It's way too fucking early, so you have a lot of making up to do, mister."

"I plan to," he smirked, winking at her before devouring her lips with his; his hands skimming down her body, making good of his promise.

He rolled on top of her, his fingers circling her most sensitive spot and his growing erection pressing against her thigh. Emma hooked a leg around his waist and, using all her strength, pushed him to the side and straddled him. The look of surprise on his face was quite adorable, she had to admit. She smiled triumphantly and undulated her hips to create friction. His eyes clouded with lust and he let out a strangled moan, reaching up to grab her hand and pull her forward, their lips meeting in a bruising kiss. Rising up, she guided him to her center and slowly sank in, throwing her head back in a silent cry and planting her hands in his chest for support, nails scraping at the thick hair there.

Just like the previous night, they moved in unison, executing a synced dance as if they'd done that a thousand times before, not only once. Emma didn't have much time or concentration to ponder about that because right now Killian was hitting the _perfect_ spot, making her see constellations behind her shut eyes. Her body was tense from all the building pressure, and he used his fingers to help her find her release.

When it hit her, it was almost as groundbreaking as it had been the first time. He followed a couple of sharp thrusts later, with a loud moan, and she collapsed on his chest, breathing shallowly. They stayed like that for several minutes, bodies entangled and hearts beating errantly.

"Ok, now you can go and let me sleep," Emma said once she got over the aftershocks of their morning activities, and slid out of him to get up and grab her clothes. The truth is that she really didn't want him to go, but she also didn't want to be a sappy, clingy moron. "Want a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks, love, you left me more than sated," he replied with a cheeky grin, putting on his plaid shirt.

They went down the stairs together, passing by a couple of neighbors that looked at her in a weird way – as if it was so unusual that she was letting a guy out of her place, come on, this is the twenty-first century, narrow-minded people – and she unlocked the front door of the building so Killian could go. He turned to her and looked down at her with an award-winning smile. He bent down and captured her lips in a gentle but hot kiss, pulling out way too early for Emma's taste.

"See you soon, Emma," he said, and he moved his face to whisper hotly in her ear. "You look ravishing with that sex hair, by the way." He pulled away and laughed at the dumbstruck expression she was surely sporting before jumping down the stairs and going to his car.

No wonder old Mrs. Davenport had looked so scandalized.

_Meh, what the hell,_ Emma thought, climbing back the flights of stairs and going straight to her bed, which was still warm and where Killian's scent still lingered.

* * *

"Evening, Swan," Graham's voice called her when she entered 'the Eye' that night and started to check she had all the bottles and provisions she'd need.

"Evening, Humbert," she replied, eyes focused on her task because she knew by the slightly high pitch in his voice that he was aware of her date with Killian and he was going to tease her sooner or later.

"Caught the Sox game last night on TV. You looked great. That leather jacket of yours matched the blush on your face."

Ok, so apparently it was starting sooner _than_ later.

"Fuck you, Graham," she muttered, giving him a well-deserved slap in the arm and throwing her plan of staying cool and playing dumb overboard in seconds flat.

"Ouch! Hey! Don't tell me you didn't have fun." He smirked at her, apparently very pleased with himself.

Emma sighed, exasperated. "Are you by any chance making extra money by playing Cupid or something like that?"

He chuckled and shook his head while cleaning his side of the bar with a dishtowel. "Nope...though it's not a bad idea. Thanks for the tip, Emma. Now, really, how did it go?"

"Oh my God, underneath that scruff and sexy macho appearance, you really are a gossipy teenage girl."

"I know. I have many layers, like onions and obnoxious green ogres."

Her anger dissipated and she laughed heartily at that. "Well, at least you acknowledge that you are more similar to Shrek than what you appear to be."

He turned to face her and she was surprised to see how serious he was. "Really, Ems, after you left last Saturday, the guy practically cornered me in the Staff Room, asking me what kind of stuff you like doing, your favorite food and all that. It was a little scary," he added as an afterthought.

"And you gave information about me to a guy that you thought was scary?" she raised her eyebrow.

"No! I mean, yeah, but, he wasn't scary-creepy. It's like...like he really wanted you to have a good time. And seeing as you are like, the hardest woman in the world to please –and I don't mean it in a bad way, before you start yelling at me– I thought it would be nice to help the guy if he was willing to make you have fun."

Again with the fun thing. First Mary Margaret, now Graham. She knew she was so guarded that sometimes she came across as an aloof and hard girl, but it stung a little to see how big that image of her actually was.

"So, at least the Sox won, that's gotta count for something," Graham added quickly with a smile, seeing her change of mood and trying to ease her.

She found herself smiling back. "Yeah, it was a great game. Except for the kiss-camera fiasco. Is that really a thing or did you tell him to pay the guys in the stadium to do it?"

He barked out a laugh. "No, I did not. That was all a happy coincidence."

"Yeah, happy my ass," she muttered, ending the conversation and approaching the young girls that were waiting to order their drinks.

It was a busy night at the _Emerald,_ as usual. Great music, lots of soon-to-be drunks ordering shot after shot, keeping Emma and Graham busy and exchanging places in the 'Eye' every two hours. Which was cool, because it left Emma almost no time to think about when she should call Killian. Or if she should wait until he called her. She knew he had to spend the morning in the school – playing guitar for little kids, and no, she was totally _not_ picturing that in her head and melting at the mental image. Not at all. – and he imparted private lessons in the afternoon, so it was normal that he hadn't sent her a text during the whole day.

Then why was Emma itching to hear from him, to even send him a lame message thanking him for the date and the night together just so they could keep in touch even if they had seen each other only a few hours before?

_Because he's a hot and sweet fucking bastard with a panty-dropping accent and you are so screwed up._

Her inner Jiminy Cricket was bitchy sometimes, but at least he always told the truth.

She was handing a mojito to a pretty woman in her thirties when she saw out of the corner of her eye another costumer approaching the bar. "What can I do for you?" she said before fully turning to him.

"I can think of many things, love, but for now, a pint of Guinness will do."

_Think of the devil._

Rolling her eyes but smiling, she slid the drink across the bar to him, and he caught it gracefully with his hand. "Irish beer for the leprechaun," she announced, smirking.

"Oi!" Killian complained, but his amused eyes betrayed him.

"Really, can you be more Irish? The only thing left is that you start riverdancing right here and now."

"I'll try not to take that as an offence," he said as he brought the glass to his lips and glued his eyes with her.

Emma laughed and shook her head. "What are you doing here?"

"Just having a drink, relaxing after a long day of work," he said innocently. She didn't buy it at all.

"Did you get to school on time?"

"Yeah, I had the first period with the little lads from third grade. I played Kumbaya for them."

"Hey! Are you going to use every opportunity you can to bite me in the ass with that?" she complained.

"Naturally," he chuckled. Then he narrowed his eyes at her and licked his lips in a way that should be illegal. "Although...if it bothers you too much, _I_ can be the one to bite you in the ass." He wiggled his eyebrows as if they had a life of their own.

"You're disgusting," she said half-heartedly.

"Sure, that's what you thought last night. And this morning. A lad asked me today if the bruise on my neck was because I was bitten by a giant mosquito."

"Oh my God," she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter. A strange rush of pride shot through her at the thought that she'd left a mark on him.

"Yeah. It would have been funny if the headmaster hadn't overheard it. She called me apart and I thought she was going to fire me or something, but she recommended me a good concealer and foundation to cover it."

"OH MY GOD." She almost lost it, her whole body shaking with laugher and her stomach hurting. Once she recovered, her eyes made a quick scan of the bar, looking for angry costumers waiting for her to stop flirting and prepare their drinks. But she was facing the more private side of the bar at the moment, so it was empty, save for Killian, who was drinking the last of his beer and looking at her with fascination in his eyes.

"You should laugh more often, you know," he commented, eyes appraising her.

"You should wear concealer and foundation so I can laugh more often," she countered, smiling. God, what was he doing to her?

"I will, I'll even wear black eyeliner if it makes you smile like that again."

She didn't answer; the mental image of this gloriously attractive guy wearing guyliner was too distracting.

She was taken out of her reverie by Killian putting a ten dollar bill in front of her. "Listen, love, I have to work tomorrow morning, so I'll be heading home now. It was lovely to see you again."

"Alright, take care," she said, putting the money in the tip box and trying to hide her disappointment.

"I'll call you later to see when we can meet again...if you want, of course."

She offered him a wide smile. "Looking forward to it."

He answered with a toothy grin of his own. "Good night, Emma."

He was turning to leave when she leaned forward over the counter and fisted his shirt, bringing him back. He turned around, eyebrows scrunching together, and she wasted no time in kissing him fiercely, not caring that Graham, her boss and hundreds of strangers were looking at the scene.

Emma pulled away and smirked, pleased to see his amazed expression and know that she had the same affect on him that he had on her.

"Don't take too long to call."


End file.
